


Relaxation

by Deriliarch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hair Washing, M/M, Marauders, Marauders era, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 21:03:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14293413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deriliarch/pseuds/Deriliarch
Summary: Remus has had a tough full moon and is tired enough that Sirius is worried. He is very determined to give his boyfriend a relaxing bath--though Remus doesn't seem to be helping, much.





	Relaxation

Sirius wrinkled his nose and held open the door. “Eugh, it smells like _virtue_ in here.”

It was a testament to how badly Remus must be feeling that he couldn’t muster the energy to crack a pity-smile or even an eye roll. He just shuffled in after him and sat down heavily on the lip of the sunken tub. The prefects bathroom was deserted at 2:30 in the morning and had that slightly foreboding feeling bathrooms get at night when it’s quiet enough to hear the pipes pinging quietly to one another. It smelled like humid air and old, faint, overlapping perfumes. Sirius had, of course, snuck in here before–-any place he shouldn’t be is a place he had to be–but now he was in here with an actual prefect. Did that make it more or less exciting? Speaking of…

“Are you falling asleep over there?”

Remus was sagging forward so much Sirius couldn’t even see his head, just the hunched curvature of his back. “Yes,” he muttered, not moving.

Sirius heaved a melodramatic sigh at being prodded but secretly studied him with worry. The extra responsibilities of prefect that had begun at the start of this year, him catching the ridiculous run of fever that had spread through the school, stressing already about the impending O.W.L.S. had all coalesced into a particularly bad transformation this month. Usually he was in the Hospital Wing for the morning after, at most, to take care of the major, glaring injuries, though he often took the rest of the day off to sleep. 

Today, though, he had had to stay until dinner and came back dead-eyed and sunken looking. It was as he had fallen asleep curled up in front of the fire while the rest of them attempted homework that Sirius saw that Madame Pomfrey had missed a spot. A small mat in the back of his hair had stiffened into a cowlick. It would have been adorable if Sirius hadn’t known it was blood.

So, against frighteningly little protest–he would have thought it would be more fun that Remus couldn’t bring himself to argue–he had hauled them both here in the dead of Friday night for some forcible relaxation. He was going to relax, dammit, if Sirius had to drown him in bubbles to do it.  He marched over and began to twist every nozzle before hastily narrowing it down to just one stream of light, translucent green when Remus gave a nauseated moan of protest at the aromatic assault. When Sirius was satisfied this water wouldn’t do anything more offensive than produce a meek smell of chamomile and gold sparkles, he began to putter about with purpose. 

He locked the door, made a mountain of towels and robes next to Remus (he blinked owlishly at them),  briskly stripped both of them down, and upended Remus into the steaming water. Er…gently. He wasn’t aspirating, and that’s what mattered, right? Sirius managed to get them both situated with absolutely no help from Remus, thank you very much, maneuvering him about like a lifesized, slightly buoyant mannequin. Remus was up to his chin, now, seated on a lower step, and Sirius resisted his innate urge to dunk him under. They peered at each other for a few long moments, not quite sure what the other wanted. Sirius ventured, “How are you feeling?”

\-----

Remus blinked a few times, glanced around and then up at his boyfriend’s hopeful, tense face and hazarded, “Er…warm?” In a rusty voice.

For whatever reason, this seemed to satisfy him. He reached out and spun Remus while pulling him back against the step and himself. Remus was just about to try mustering enough strength to warn Sirius that if he tried anything lewd, he would make sure to fall asleep in the middle of it, when something cold smeared over the side of his scalp. He yelped–- alright, it was more of a strangled, despairing squeak. 

“Whoops, sorry,” came from above him, there was a rustling and a mutter and when the hands came back, whatever it was–shampoo?–was delightfully warm and tingly. 

It took a few moments of smushing action going on in his hair before he determined–- “Are you…washing my hair?“ 

The hands paused. “Is that alright?” Sirius asked, cautiously. 

Since he was definitely mourning the loss of the smushing, Remus supposed it was. “Mm. Lil’ slower…?” He managed to slur. 

The hands resumed, obeying, and resolved themselves into individual fingertips pressing gently when he closed his eyes, which he didn’t remember doing. 

“Good?“ 

He thought he answered. Couldn’t be sure–he grunted or something, right?–when gentle hand caught him around his forehead, that was drooping alarmingly close to the water, apparently. It pulled his head back to rest against Sirius’ chest, then dutifully went back up to his hair. The dual warmth of bath and boy seemed to be slowly seeping down toward his bones where Madame Pomfrey’s magic never seemed quite able to reach. He could feel each muscle fiber slowly unwinding. He could feel each blood-logged brain pulse slow. He could feel each neural pathway dull.

Yes. Good.

**Author's Note:**

> This made me so sleepy by the end of it.


End file.
